


For HYDRA

by bunsterjonez



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 13:36:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16833658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunsterjonez/pseuds/bunsterjonez
Summary: How far will Brock go for HYDRA? How far will he go for her?





	1. Chapter 1

He had never been a “go with the flow” kind of guy. Everything had a purpose, every action an equal opposite reaction. Calculating, conscious decisions made for effective soldiers. It’s what he was, after all.

When HYDRA took over his unit, he didn’t question it. They gave Brock Rumlow a purpose, a task, and he obeyed. STRIKE was his to lead, and he couldn’t lead without conviction. Order was HYDRA’s goal, and he would bring it without fail.

As painful as it may be.

He’d seen what happened to those who stepped out of line. Those who perceived HYDRA as the enemy. They were the enemy, and they would be crushed.

The way down to the Conditioning Room was long, but Brock made the journey every day. The weakest ones broke down halfway through; the sounds of torture, experimentation, and anguished screams that echoes around the stone walls made them turn tail and run, begging for an office position or a more cushy job within HYDRA’s ranks. Fools, the lot of them. There was no comfort within HYDRA, and comfort in the outside world was only an illusion.

She had been processed two months ago; an exceptional spy who got a little too friendly with a Senator. She had been spilling HYDRA secrets in exchange for protection, but all she got was a trip to the tunnels. Her cell was the furthest one from the main lift; she had been isolated and left under his command less than a week ago; almost tearing apart the last two agents who attempted to subdue her after her conditioning treatments, and the lack of volunteers was not surprising. She was promising, could do great things; Brock recognized it. He’d seen it in her eyes; the fury, the anger, the hatred. All the makings of the ultimate HYDRA machine.

She just needed his guiding hand. But he had miscalculated.

“Up,” Brock commanded, standing in front of her.

“Why?” she said, slowly raising her head to meet his dark eyes, otherwise not moving from her sitting position, elbows on her knees, hair matted as it curtained her face. She looked terrifying, poised to spring up and slash him to pieces at any moment.

She was magnificent.

He gulped, but kept his stance steady, matching her solemnity. “There is no why. Up. It’s an order.”

“And we all follow orders.” She kept her eyes on his. “Even you.”

Brock blinked. A mistake.

In less than a microsecond she pounced, and he was barely able to react to her knocking him backwards onto the hard granite floor; he felt the warm gush of blood oozing out his head but her face was distracting him from feeling any pain. Her eyes blazed; fire and brimstone, and her lips curled up in a mischievous snarl as she pinned him down, pressing her forearm against his windpipe and keeping her knees locked around his legs.

“There. I’m up, Boss,” she leaned in close to him, her breath hot against his face. “How about you?”

She was so strong, savage, and unbreakable. Brock marveled at her tenacity, and hated to admit to himself that her playfulness irrationally endeared him to her. But he didn’t have much time to enjoy her body pushed up on his, a growing desiring heat rising up within him. Her face quickly transformed from amused into a grimace; a guard hitting her with a strong tranq to the back of her neck.

She yanked it out with a groan, instantly shooting it back towards the guard with one hand, hitting him in the knee. Both she and Rumlow ignored his cries as she weakly pushed herself off him, the tranquilizer already taking effect.

Brock didn’t know what made him do it, the first uncalculated move his body ever made within HYDRA’s bowels. But he couldn’t help himself; he brushed a strand of hair off her face as her eyes fluttered shut, her head sinking down against his chest.

He took her in his arms, her limp body close to him, past the guard, who stared at him as he carried her back to the Conditioning Lab. And for the first time a strong impulse to run towards the freight elevator, out the main lobby, and away from HYDRA crossed his mind.

_What the hell is wrong with you?_ Brock’s mind screamed at him. It was an impulsive thought, not calculated. He did not think that way, not here. He couldn’t afford to. But why did he feel like he was carrying her straight towards a funeral pyre?

_You are saving her_. She would be killed, just as he would, if he ever attempted to run. This way she’d still have a chance. They would strengthen her. Make her acquiesce. She would become unstoppable. And maybe, someday…

Taking steady breaths, he quelled his torrent of unwelcome emotions, as he stepped through a wide doorway, approaching a stretcher in the middle of the room. He placed her on it gently, her face emitting a strange glow as the fluorescent lights beamed down on her. She stirred slightly, as scientists began strapping her down for the procedure.

“Why…?” she whispered, eyes searching for him until she found Brock’s face leaning over her, fighting the concern away from his face, but she saw the conflict within him nonetheless.

“There is no why,” he matched her low tone. “We follow orders.”

The milky solution already making its way through her bloodstream, she hyperventilated, body tugging at the restraints, as the head strap was secured around her forehead. 

“For… HY…DRA…” she stammered, her body convulsing under the influence of the serum… and in fearful anticipation of what was to come.

“For HYDRA,” he repeated, trying to ignore how his heart seemed to be squeezed in a vice-like grip as he witnessed her pain.

“We’re ready to begin,” a voice behind him said.

Brock’s eyes lingered on hers longer than necessary, his hand giving hers a light squeeze. With a barely audible sigh, he tore his gaze from her wide eyes, and swept out of the room. As he walked away down the hall, her screams filled his ears; loud, horrendous, and gut wrenching sounds. But Brock kept his pace even, heading into the main lift. He could still hear her piercing cries after the doors closed, all the way up to the Medical Bay, embedded in his brain as he got his head cleaned up and bandaged.

Everything he did, every calculated move, was not only made for HYDRA. It was for her.


	2. Chapter 2

“Again.”

The combination was simple enough: jab, cross, hook, round-house kick. Then turn for a backhand slap, crouch for a leg sweep, backflip away from danger. Nothing she hadn’t done a million times before. But her eyes glazed briefly on the backhand, and her stance after the sweep was sloppy.

“Again,” Brock repeated.

Sweat dripped down her face, black tank top drenched, breathing heavy. There were blisters on her feet, raw red welts on her skin. Though exhaustion would try to claim her body, she would not yield.

It was the HYDRA way.

A sharp inhale as she stepped in for the kick, but her backhand was weak again. Brock took advantage; twisting her around and locking her against his chest in a vice-like grip.

“Not good enough,” he hissed, before pushing her forward. Her legs trembled, buckled slightly, before she turned sharply back to face him. There was venom personified in her features, a vicious snarl on her lips. Brock could see her forearm muscles flexing in anticipation. The effects of the serum increasing her adrenaline, and the desire to put him down, like the doctors did to her, coursing through her veins.

An eye for an eye. A head for a head. The desire for retribution, for revenge, wasn’t part of the HYDRA playbook. Out of order comes freedom. Out of freedom comes power. But having being subjected to the hands of powerful men, it wasn’t surprising that she would want to repay the debt. 

A push is all she needed.

“Eyes sharp,” he barked. “Betray nothing. Except rage.”

“Rage instills fear,” the lesson ingrained in her mind blurted out of dry lips automatically.

“And a fearful opponent is a weak one,” he saw her eye slightly twitch at the reminder, her face contorted in pain as she processed his words. “Prey on that weakness, and you’ll be invincible.”

A strangled yell and she lunged at him instantly. Jab, cross, left hook – _right hook?_ Brock was caught unawares at the combo change, and she took her chance. The left hook made him stumble sideways. Her kick connected with his jaw, bouncing him back and swaying just enough for her leg sweep to knock him off his feet. 

His head hit stone, and without preamble, her hands found his throat. Long, jagged nails dug and broke his skin. She leaned in, inhaling the rust and salt. He swore he saw her eyes roll back in pleasure, but his own vision was turning hazy.

_She’s strong enough._ He kept telling himself, as the room’s brass door blasted open and agents attempted to subdue her. 

His hand traveled up to his neck, traces of blood on his fingertips. His eyes rose to meet the unholy sight. In all her feral glory, she growled, bit, slashed at the tac-suit clad arms around her. Tranq guns riddled her writhing form. Yet she still fought.

_She’ll make it._

Her arm broke free, and a fist connected with a guard’s chin. They fell, out cold. More tranquilizers hit her thigh, and her eyes went wide, an agonizing cry as her knee hit the floor.

_No._

Her gaze landed on Brock, eyes locked, her pleading look almost shattering his soul. The hope he’d held for her reduced to a single thought, a prayer stuck in his throat. Her eyelids finally fluttered shut, her body limp, and needles fell and clattered to the floor as she was dragged out of sight. Away from him.

It was only later in the privacy of his quarters that he let himself utter a shuddering sigh under the flowing shower head, swallowing a sob he knew he wouldn’t be able to quell if he let it loose. His hands clenched against his face, he held his breath, before whispering into his fingers.

“I’m sorry.”

**Author's Note:**

> First request I got for a Rumlow x OFC fic (from Tumblr), and may devolve into more. It's a relationship I didn't think I'd enjoy writing as much as I did. I love complex characters and delving into their motivations, so it may be interesting to make more of these one shots. Hope you enjoy! --BJ


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